I am still alive then. That may come in useful.

Dying for dark — and the darker the Worse. Strange.

Finished, it's finished, nearly finished, it must be nearly finished. Grain upon grain, one by one, and one day, suddenly, there's a heap, a little heap, the impossible heap. I can't be punished any more. I'll go now to my kitchen, ten feet by ten feet by ten feet, and wait for him to whistle me. Nice dimensions, nice proportions, I'll lean on the table, and look at the wall, and wait for him to whistle me.

We have time to grow old. The air is full of our cries. But habit is a great deadener.

The pendulum oscillates between these two terms: Suffering-that opens a window on the real and is the main condition of the artistic experience, and Boredom ... that must be considered as the most tolerable because the most durable of human evils.

There's something dripping in my head. A heart, a heart in my head.

As it is with the love of the body, so with the friendship of the mind, the full is only reached by admittance to the most retired places.